


Hysteria-Induced Catatonia

by Terahlyanwe



Series: Unlikely Universes [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terahlyanwe/pseuds/Terahlyanwe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One trauma too many sends Harry spiraling over the edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hysteria-Induced Catatonia

**Author's Note:**

> Pet Peeve #8: And this is a pet peeve directed at J.K. Rowling, too. From a first hand perspective, having both studied psychology and been raised in an environment that was fairly similar to Harry's treatment by the Dursleys, I can definitively say that it is impossible for one to have the kinds of traumas that Harry suffered throughout his life and not end up with some pretty serious psychological issues. I've had years of therapy and haven't recovered; he, having experienced far worse things than I have, going by his experiences at Hogwarts and beyond, would be in a far worse place than I ever was. Let your heroes be flawed; they actually make them more impressive.

Walk briskly forward - wait! - hop skip left, step carefully around the volatile obstacle, sidle past cautiously eyeballing it for traps or danger. Pass by, breathe with relief, and hurry on. No danger from that carefully set trap. You suddenly worry that the enemy might have left a mind altering charm on the trap. Fucking rocks. If it's too big to be lifted, it's definitely a trap left by the enemy. You've never set one off, not even when you've accidentally tripped on one - which hasn't happened in ages; you're more careful than that - but they're all still dangerous.

Check the Occlumency walls. They rise in your mind, white, opaque, with shifting and moving figures inside. They look like milky walls of glass banded in cold iron - the better to conceal the traps you're protecting yourself from. One of the figures detaches from the rest and floats forward till its shape is almost clear through the many walls separating you from it. Only the brilliant shock of red hair is defined, and it shines like a lick of live flame.

* * *

"Mum's crying again." the teenaged boy had his foot on the wall opposite, braced across the corridor forbidding the younger boy to pass.

"So's Lily." brown eyes blinked up at his older brother, huge with sorrow and confusion. The older one shrugged.

"Lily cries all the time, Al. It's kind of what infants do." Albus Severus Potter (who hated his name with a passion and wished that he could have had a cool name like Ezekiel or Richard, or really anything except  _Albus Severus_ ) squared his shoulders and threw himself under the barrier of his brother's leg and was running down the stairs before James could utter more than a startled "oy!".

* * *

A thin hand is raised from the figure's side and comes to rest on the suddenly clear Occlumency barrier. You are face to face with the somber face of your beloved. The unfortunate side effect of the clarity of vision means that now you see the gaping hole in the side of her head where bits of skull, dura mater, brain matter, and blood ooze down her cheek and shoulder. It flows sluggishly in a steady stream down past her collarbone where it pools in the hollow left there. It then breaks free of the eddy to course down her thin, wasted torso, coating her barely-covered-in-rags breasts and stomach before dripping off a jutting pelvic bone to fall and vanish into the mists below her. (She is as gaunt in your vision as she was when you found her, thrown as the broken, dying refuse she was to her captors with every bone outlined in sharp relief.)

"Hello, my love." she smiles, and her teeth are broken and stained, although you think she is the loveliest creature ever to live. Her hand caresses the wall and as though you can feel her gentle touch on your cheek: you lean forward until your face rests on the barrier. It's a bucket of cold water to your sleeping sense of self preservation and you jerk back, lips compressing into a dreadful, toothy rictus. You suddenly have a mental image of your face contorting and changing into the visage of a leering, grinning, vicious goblin of the sort that gutted Molly Weasley - Mum Weasley, you still call her in your mind, although she's dead and floating somewhere in the same nowheresphere that Ginny is - after the Dark Lord lured them to his side.

* * *

James followed Albus down the stairs, hands jammed into the pockets of his muggle jeans, sauntering in a way that belied his stress and concern for his family. Despite his warning Albus off, James only hesitated a moment at the door to his mother's bedroom before he pushed it open gently and walked inside. Ginny was sitting on the edge of the bed, crying into her hands, and Albus had curled up by her side looking somber and afraid.

"'lo, Mum." James greeted her, crossing the room to wrap his lanky form around her in a close hug. She sniffled and pulled him and Albus to her sides.

"He still hasn't woken up." she confessed in a quavering voice. "The Healers are starting to hint that I should start thinking about having the life support charms removed."

Albus's eyes filled up and tears began to run down his face as he cried silently. James' face was stone.

"But nothing's wrong with him!" he cried out, bewildered at the injustice of the world. "He never got hurt…"

Ginny shrugged helplessly. "The Healers say that his mind was sick from the horrid muggles he was raised with, and then the trauma from all his encounters with Voldemort only exacerbated the issues. When he walked into a room completely full of boggarts…"

James, who had taken muggle psychiatry classes and knew that his father most certainly had undiagnosed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, blanched as he pictured the intensity of the flashback that must have triggered. Ginny's thoughts were echoing his own:

"All I can think is that he's trapped in his own nightmares. His Occlumency barriers are too strong for anyone to reach him. He's locked himself in, and his body is dy…dying." with her last words, she dissolved into tears. Lily wailed louder upstairs, so James ran up and fetched her down, and then the little family curled up on the big bed and cried together.

* * *

The Dark Lord. Once the thought has flashed into your head, your Occlumency walls become transparent, revealing the rows upon rows of murdered friends that completely surround you in a sphere.

"Mate." you jerk your head up and see Ron's solemn face staring at you. Your throat is suddenly far, far too dry to speak, and you are reduced to licking your lips over and over, dry swallowing repetitively in an attempt to create enough moisture in your mouth to utter words.

"You said we were going to rescue her: why did you lead us into a trap?"

"Oh, be silent, Ronald." Hermione appears next to Ron and bobs his head gently. She doesn't appear to notice that she is smoking: all blackened, burnt and crusty skin where MacNair caught her with an Infringo curse.

"It isn't your fault that you weren't strong enough to protect us." she promises you, smiling and reaching out to touch the invisible barrier between you. You begin to cry, and as blood leaks out from between her smiling lips, the sobs turn into retching, as bile creeps up your throat. A hand rubs your back gently as you dry heave on hands and knees onto the cobblestones.

"Harry." the voice is soothingly low, but distorted. Remus appears in your field of vision and a detached part of your brain wonders how he can speak with a completely smashed in face; his features are barely recogniseable due to an errant swing of a giant's club.

 _A giant that you had just enraged with a severing hex not strong enough to decapitate it._  you think to yourself and a great, deep well of self-loathing and sorrow begins welling out of you as a thin, wailing cry.

* * *

Healers lined the edge of the room, quiet and respectful, and easy to overlook. James, holding Albus's smaller hand in his, padded into the sterile hospital room, Ginny close behind, Lily in her arms.

Harry Potter's family circled his bed. Ginny set tiny Lily down on the bed next to Harry, and clasped hands with Lily and Albus. They held hands in a circle around Harry and gazed down at him. Ginny took a deep, shaky breath, and began to sing.

_À la claire fontaine_  
_M'en allant promener_  
_J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle_  
_Que je m'y suis baigné_

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime_  
_Jamais je ne t'oublirai._

_Sous les feuilles d'un chêne_  
_Je me suis fait sécher_  
_Sur la plus haute branche_  
Un rossignol chantait

The boys joined in with her on the final choruses, as Ginny's voice was breaking beyond her ability to hold a tune as they sang  _"I have loved you for a long time. I will never forget you."_

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime  
Jamais je ne t'oublierai_

_Il y a longtemps que je t'aime  
Jamais je ne t'oublierai_

The boys moved slightly so include Harry in the hand holding circle. James surreptitiously arranged his hand so he could feel his father's pulse, slow, but strong. Ginny was crying, and nodded to one of the Healers, who stepped forward and began a series of intricate circles with his wand and intoned:

"Relscevide."

The faint light of the spells sustaining Harry's life force faded away. James concentrated ever harder on every beat of Harry's heart. Ginny and Albus were focusing on the light blue light hovering over Harry's head that showed that life was still present in his body. The same moment that James felt the steady pulse change to a weak flutter, the light faded to yellow, and then, Harry's body was totally still, and the light turned red.

Ginny gasped out a sob and jammed a fist in her mouth, turning away from the bed with tears coursing down her face. A young, fresh-faced trainee picked up Lily and murmured to her softly, giving Ginny the freedom to grieve. James had sunk to his knees by the bedside, still holding Harry's hand.

"Bye, dad. I love you. Don't worry about us; James is doing a good job taking care us. You can rest." Albus's whisper was heard by most of the room, and the few dry eyes instantly turned watery. The boy pressed a kiss to Harry's hand, and abruptly burst into tears.

* * *

People begin to surround you, muttering platitudes, condemnations, encouragement (to live and to die, both) , and advice. You especially note Mad-Eye Moody who stumps over to you, now on two wooden legs with one arm dangling uselessly and mostly severed from the shoulder.

"Lad," he proclaims, lifting his useless arm with this other and slinging it around your shoulder, "your Occlumency barriers still aren't strong enough. 'Course, they never can be." He leans away and grins horrifically at you.

"Constant Vigilance!" he roars, and you flinch away so violently that you tumble onto your back, your transparent barriers falling for a split second and –  _they're all around you. Ginny embraces you and her blood is thick, too thick, coagulating even as it is smeared across your face and neck as Ginny sinks onto the ground beside you, smiling at you tenderly. Bill has his arms crossed, eyeballing your interaction with his baby sister as Fleur and Victoire stand beside him. All three are unharmed, since they were killed by the Killing Curse, but their features are stiffened into rictuses of fear by rigor mortis. Sirius is romping over and –_  "Constant Vigilance!"

Moody's second roar shocks you back into your right mind, and you force the barriers back up. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Moody, Bill, Fleur, Victoire, Remus – all of them are suddenly frozen in pale, cloudy Occlumency walls. You stare at everyone you ever loved as they float, dead, in your mind, and begin cursing vehemently before exiting your mental projection for the real world.

It's a simple thing to take your wand out of your pocket, running fingers up and down its perfectly familiar surface. You point it at your temple and begin thinking of things you hate. Voldemort, MacNair, Malfoy, Lucius, Crabbe & Goyle (both senior and junior).  _The hate begins to build, becoming an almost palpable aura around you._ Avery, Nott, Barty Crouch, Fudge, Skeeter, Greyback, Umbridge. _Now it's easy to see the haze of green clouding your vision._  A final person to loathe flits into your mind. It's a vision of yourself. Something nasty and vile grips your lungs and shakes you. You truly hate yourself more than anyone or anything that exists. You, who betrayed the world by being weak. Taking a breath, you whisper two of the forbidden words, wand still pointed firmly at your temple.

"Avada"

For a split second, you see a vision floating before your eyes: it's Ginny, older than she was when you found her corpse, and she's holding a tiny, flame-haired infant that is looking down somberly at you. Holding each of your hands are two boys, adolescents: tall, and gangly in a way you recall the photos of a young James Potter to have been. You conclude that the Universe is gifting you –or cursing you—with the vision of the life you might have had.  _If you hadn't failed._

" Kedavra."

A flash of green is the last thing you see.

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Ginny sings is a traditional French song that roughly translates as follows:
> 
> To the clear fountain  
> I went to walk  
> I found the water so beautiful  
> That I bathed in it.
> 
> I have loved you for a long time  
> I will never forget you.
> 
> Under the leaves of an oak tree  
> I let myself dry  
> On its highest branch  
> A nightingale was singing.
> 
> I have loved you for a long time  
> I will never forget you
> 
> I have loved you for a long time  
> I will never forget you.


End file.
